2011 was the first year since 1979 in which I did not buy a single piece of seven inch vinyl. Subsequently I’ve made a point of putting that right, but it’s indicative of how the format has inevitably been marginalised by mp3s, and also of how my shopping habits have changed; until 2009, I had ready access to stores selling seven inch vinyl, whereas since then, I have not. Just as when I started buying records on independent labels in the mid-eighties, seven inch singles are once again arriving via mail order, only now with download codes included.
‘Moon’ is one such example, pressed on lunar white vinyl. And the most recent single in this selection of 45s also happens to be one of my favourite songs from recent times. It’s flawless, as perfect a miniature as you’d find in a glass-case collection of netsuke. The songs of Kate Stables are that exquisitely crafted, and she sings wonderfully windblown, ululating melodies in as fine and unblemished a voice as you’ll find this side of Sandy Denny. The words are haiku-like in their capturing of an essence: ‘We had the moon, we had the moon, me and you.’ The album from which ‘Moon’ comes, Wriggle out the restless, is similarly fluid and beautiful; each of its songs has either a lilt and a calming air, or a swell and a rush of wind about it.
As magical as the satellite itself, refusing to outstay its welcome, ‘Moon’ has demanded endless repeat plays of me, and I imagine it will carry on doing so for a good long while yet.
A jumped-up pantry boy 